


Carte Blanche

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dom/sub, Free Use, M/M, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "If I come, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to think about it...I only want you to think about yourself, and what’d feel good for you." Keith asks Shiro to be a little selfish — because Keith's certain he'll enjoy it, and because Shiro deserves it.





	Carte Blanche

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new here and this is my first time writing a oneshot in a long while so...hopefully it turned out alright. I imagine this takes place sometime after s7, but please forgive an OOC-ness or errors with canon....there's no plot here whatsoever. Big thanks to [springofviolets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springofviolets/works) and [mercibeaucul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercibeaucul/works) for betaing and giving me the courage to post. I'm not really sure what all I should tag this as but it's pretty wild and I had trouble finding a good label for the dynamic here, so if there's anything I should tag it with about please let me know. <3

Keith runs a hand over Shiro’s chest with a long sigh.

He’s gotten Shiro to be rough, occasionally - but it was always for him, and he could tell.

Because it’s always good, just — he has a craving. An itch he can’t seem to scratch, through everything they normally do.

“Sometimes, I don’t want you to think about me at all, you know?” When Shiro’s brow furrows, he rushes to continue. “Not like I think you wouldn’t _,_ just — I don’t know — I want you to let yourself be selfish, I guess. Focus more on getting yourself off more than me.”

Shiro blinks at him, clearly confused. “I _like_ getting you off, though.”

“I know, but — shit, this is hard to explain.” Keith groans in frustration and buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck. “If I come, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to think about it...I only want you to think about yourself, and what’d feel good for you.”

Shiro frowns. “That...sounds like I’d be using you.”

The word makes the back of Keith’s neck heat. He untucks his head to meet Shiro’s eyes. He might not be able to say aloud that’s exactly what he wants, but he knows it’ll only take a look for Shiro to understand. He waits, lip between his teeth, until Shiro’s eyes finally widen.

“Oh, uh...” Shiro trails off before giving a light laugh  “I don’t know if I can do that, but we can try sometime. I’m not entirely against the idea if you really want it, as long as I don’t have to be too rough or anything.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s rough or not, just...” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll do it, you know?”

Shiro’s lips pull into a teasing grin. “Can’t believe you’re _asking_ for orders.”

Keith huffs. “It’s different when it’s you, obviously.”

The mirth in Shiro’s eyes softens, and before he can respond, Keith rolls over him to silence him with a kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ever since they’ve returned to the Garrison, their days have routines. The morning is breakfast, then physical training; the afternoon is drills in the lions, then inspection and repairs. Most of Shiro’s time is spent trying to understand Atlas, which makes Keith’s afternoon his favorite part of the day. With most of the Garrison planes out of commission, it’s easy to steal glances at Shiro from anywhere in the hangar — which he does, frequently. Shiro’s new uniform fits him too well not to.

He’s just turned away from another lingering stare when he sees Shiro wave, then hears him shout through over the mechanical whirring that always fills the hangar.

“Keith, can you come here?”

He smiles, figuring he’s been caught, and gives a gesture back to Shiro before hopping down from the Black Lion and heading towards Shiro’s station.

When Keith reaches him, he’s deep in reading whatever report is on the tablet in his hands, brows furrowed with thought.

Keith clears his throat to get his attention. “Hey, Shiro — What’d you need?”

Shiro doesn’t lift his chin from the report. His eyes slide up briefly — just long enough for Keith to notice the heat in them as Shiro gives his body a once over — then return to reading.

“Can you be in my room in ten minutes?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register. When it finally does, he smirks and places a firm hand on Shiro’s shoulder as he nods, a flicker of excitement in his chest.

“Yes, sir.”

He exits the hangar as quickly as he can without drawing attention and hurries down the halls to the officers' quarters. Shiro had added him to the handprint-reading lock for his room as soon as he’d been assigned it, and the hall is empty when he reaches it, so he wastes no time waiting at the door.

The room is neat when he enters, as Shiro always leaves it. He hovers for a minute between the chair, the door, and the bed, trying to decide where Shiro might want him — but just as he removes his jacket, the door slides open behind him.

He tosses it aside and grins, turning to Shiro. “Hey.”

The only response he gets is lips against his and a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back to the nearest wall.

Shiro kisses him roughly and gropes him through his pants. There’s no attempt to make it feel good — none of the usual teasing, and none of the way Shiro knows he likes to be touched. It’s only a firm palm and a squeeze of fingers, a chance for Shiro to feel the shape of him for his own pleasure and nothing more.

When Shiro pulls back from him, Keith hears the metal clink of his belt unfastening.

“You want to get on your knees for me?”

Keith falls instantly, pulse pounding in his ears. As Shiro finishes unbuttoning his fatigues, he rests a palm on Keith’s head, holding him back to do nothing but stare until he has his cock out of his boxers and in his hands.

He’s already half-hard. Keith stares, unable to tear his eyes away as Shiro stokes himself firmly.

“You’re going to suck me off. Got it?”

It takes Keith a few seconds to process the order. Despite the fact he’s already on his knees, it’s a shock — Shiro’s never been blunt so before, not without a bit of goading from Keith to unthread the first layer of his control.

Shiro’s brow furrows when he doesn’t move. His hand shifts to the side of Keith’s head, to cup under his ear and force him to look up. There’s a touch of concern in Shiro’s eyes, but it’s hidden well enough behind the carefully cold expression he keeps to not ruin the tension.

“Do you not want to?”

“No, it’s not that—“

“Then do it.”

Cheeks burning, Keith nods. Another “yes, sir,” plays on his tongue, but he ignores it in favor of licking Shiro’s cock at the seam where his hand is tight around the shaft.

He’s already thinking minutes ahead — will Shiro stop him and want to fuck him? Will he get Keith off after, or will he make Keith take care of himself?

When he takes the head into his mouth, Shiro stops holding himself to move both his hands into Keith’s hair, one at the side and another fully over the back. He feels boxed in, surrounded at all sides, and it’s thrilling — even without Shiro holding him still, it leaves little room to move away from push of his cock further into his mouth. He closes his eyes with a small moan and leans forward, trying to draw more of Shiro in, and is rewarded with a thrust that nearly makes him choke with the depth of it.

Hearing the hitch in his breathing, Shiro pulls back, until Keith clutches the back of his thighs in desperation. Keith looks up, eyes half-lidded and pleading, to meet Shiro’s eyes.

There’s a pause of consideration, and then Shiro pushes his bangs back, watching intently as he gives another experimental thrust that reaches the back of his throat. Keith blinks and swallows, his body’s instincts lurching against desire as the pressure increases, but he fights through it enough to manage a nod that keeps Shiro from drawing back fully.

His vision is blurry from the effort of relaxing his throat, but he can see the small smile on Shiro’s lips when he begins to set a rhythm, sliding his cock between Keith’s lips and keeping them stretched wide.

His hand flutters down to his thigh, warring between trying to pleasure himself as Shiro fucks his mouth and allowing himself nothing but Shiro’s hands in his hair and the heaviness of his cock in his mouth. Shiro glances down at him briefly, then pushes in harder, drawing a stilted groan as he’s forced to adjust to the length filling his throat. At the rate he’s going, he’ll have Keith’s nose pressed against his stomach with another few thrusts.

The image makes him shudder with want. Shiro takes a fistful of his hair and drags his head forward, now controlling every movement with his hands and the pace of his hips. He’s helpless. All he can do is relax his jaw and moan as Shiro takes him fully, while his cock is left aching with want between his legs.

“You really did want me to use you, huh?”

The question comes between thrusts, but he can’t answer. Shiro is fucking his mouth too quickly and too deep for him to say a word, and even the hum he tries to give comes out as nothing more than a muffled groan.

Shiro inhales, tight and sharp, then forces Keith fully down on him. His own breath is ragged through his nose, and he nearly misses the hissed “gonna come down your throat, Keith” just before he does. He pulse in his cock is unmistakable, even this deep, and Keith swallows as quickly as he can to keep himself from choking.

His eyes are teary when Shiro finally sighs and releases him, fingers slackening in his hair as he pulls his hips back. The spit he’d been unable to swallow is dragged from his mouth with Shiro’s cock, leaving a wet trail. He’s near certain there must be come mixed in it too, but he can’t tell the difference between the two when they’re smeared over his lips.

Shiro runs a hand through his hair and smiles down at him briefly. “You look good like this.”

Keith feels his untouched cock throb at the praise. He blinks up at Shiro and wipes his mouth, ready and waiting to hear what he wants to do next.

“You can stay in here to clean up, if you need,” Shiro says, already refastening his belt.

Keith’s chest lurches. Is he really going to leave him like—

“I have to get back to work. Can you be ready for me after dinner?”

Keith stares at him in disbelief, still on the floor. His throat is still too rough from Shiro fucking his mouth for him to speak without effort, and his body is overheated from having no relief. But it’s exactly what wanted — and the thought of Shiro using him again is too enticing for him to care about anything but making sure it’ll happen again.

He swallows and nods.

“Here again?”

“Yeah.” Shiro strokes an absent hand through Keith’s hair, as if he weren’t still a flushed and teary mess. “I’ll see you then.”

The door shuts behind him a moment later, leaving Keith’s heart racing in the silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith doesn’t join Shiro in the mess hall. He hadn’t bothered getting himself off after Shiro had left him that afternoon, so he’s too keyed up to sit down and eat. He skips dinner and passes the time by kicking training dummies and punching sandbags in a futile attempt to distract himself from the mix of frustration and anticipation building in his chest.

He knows what he’d asked for. But he doesn’t know how far Shiro will take it, and _that_ keeps his heart racing even when he takes a break to readjust his gloves.

When the chime for the hour sounds out across the base, he’s no less tense, and his mind is filled with even more thoughts and fantasies of what Shiro might have in store for him. He has just enough time to shower before the door to the room slides open.

Shiro is already there. The door slides open, and his chest tightens with anticipation when he sees Shiro already waiting on the bed.

“You’re nearly late.”

“Sorry,” Keith says.

Shiro stares him down just long enough to make his pulse quicken again before beckoning him to the bed.

“Clothes off.”

Keith bites his lip. He wants to be on the bed already — he feels too dizzy to stand — but he want to listen more. Face flushed, he undresses in front of Shiro, stripping off his shirt and pants until he reaches his boxers.

He hooks his thumb in the elastic, uncertain. “Do you want these..?”

“Obviously.”

He doesn’t _need_ much, because he’s already worked up from Shiro ordering him to undress and the memories of that afternoon. His cock is hard and leaking against Shiro’s shirt when he’s pulled into his lap. It’s easy for Shiro to reach around him to squeeze his ass, and still easy for him to slide his hands further back to push against his rim.

Keith’s heart thrums loudly in his throat when Shiro circles him with a dry finger. Shiro hums, almost disappointed, and presses lightly at his entrance.

“I thought I told you to get ready for me?”

Keith twists his hand in the back of Shiro’s shirt, flustered. “I didn’t realize what you meant.”

“It’s alright, I can do that for you.”

The soothing kiss to his neck is a sharp contrast to the hand that swats at his ass, and he pitches forward with a sharp gasp to fall against his shoulder. The hand that had smacked him covers his entire backside, fingers digging in firmly. Keith shifts his thighs over Shiro’s lap, straining forward and panting with want.

“Shiro, c’mon—”

“I’d already be fucking you if you’d followed orders.”

The statement is accompanied by a rough squeeze that has him scrambling again at the back of Shiro’s shirt. It’s so easy to imagine how it could have been, with how Shiro has been all day — just walking in and seeing him waiting, then immediately being stripped and pushed onto the bed so Shiro can do whatever he wants with him.

He twists out of Shiro’s hold, still straddling him, and reaches over to the nightstand. The inside of the drawer is comically tidy, as always. He doesn’t need to fish around for more than a second to find the bottle he needs. Leaning his weight back on to Shiro, Keith pushes it into his hands.

Shiro takes it without a word. The back of Keith’s neck prickles with anticipation as he watches Shiro flip open the cap and coat his fingers. He loses the view when he’s tugged forward again, this time with Shiro’s forearm across his back to keep him against his chest.

Braced like this, he can barely move. All he can do is breathe, open-mouthed and helpless, against Shiro’s shirt collar, as he waits for Shiro to touch him. When he feels the brush of a hand against the back of his thigh, he twitches instinctively, and Shiro holds him tighter to keep him still. The first finger circles around his rim slowly, slicking every part of his skin that Shiro can reach without pressure, until finally pressing in.

It’s gentle, as Shiro usually is, but unyielding. Instead of drawing back at each knuckle to rework himself in, Shiro just keeps going, finger sinking in deeper and deeper until he’s shaking from the stretch. His heart pounds in his ears as he adjusts, fists clenched against Shiro’s back, but a hiss still escapes him when the finger in him shifts.

“Don’t stop,” he grits.

Shiro doesn’t. His finger works Keith open to fit two, quick and efficient — so different than the usual drawn-out way Shiro prepares him — that he doesn’t know how to react. Every sensation is sharper from the stretch. His skin heats faster, and his cock leaks onto Shiro’s shirt where he’s still pressed tight against his chest.

By the time Shiro deems him ready, he has three fingers in him, and a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. Shiro twists them one last time, burying them deep and wide enough to make Keith whimper, then withdraws and pats his hip.

Keith pulls back to look at him, expecting another direction, but Shiro only rolls him over onto the bed and adjusts him until he’s on his hands and knees. He takes the direction silently, face flushing as he lets Shiro push his chest closer to the mattress with a palm on the back of his neck. When Shiro’s satisfied, he receives another affirmative pat, this time to thigh, and stays in place even when he hears Shiro step away from the bed. He can’t see anything but the headboard in front of him, so all he can do is listen intently to visualize each step of removing his captain uniform. When the rustle of fabric finally stops, he feels the bed dip behind him, then the weight of a steady hand on his lower back.

The snap of the lube bottle being reopened make his pulse race faster. He hears Shiro’s fist working over himself, fast and wet, as he gives a small hum.

“One time, I’m going to have to get you like this again just to come on you.”

The image distracts him enough that he misses the sound of the bottle opening again, and he flinches when cold lube is dripped right besides his hole. Shiro pushes it to his entrance with his thumb, then circles around, leaving Keith with nothing to do but try and support himself on shaking arms until Shiro is satisfied and removes his fingers to line up his cock.

Keith’s fingers curl against the sheets as Shiro pushes in past his rim. There’s no pause before he sinks deeper — just Shiro holding his hips tight as his head falls towards the bed and he pants at the pressure. He hears Shiro give a soft sigh when he bottoms out, and bites his lip to suppress a groan at the change in angle when Shiro pushes on his thighs to bring them closer together.

The first drag-out is slow. Shiro holds his hips tight to keep him in place and pushes back in roughly, setting a pace that doesn’t slow even when Keith falls forward onto his forearms. One of the hands that’d been on his hips moves to his back, keeping him face-down and his moans muffled by the mattress.

It’s all too much. After Shiro had used his mouth that afternoon, and all the thoughts he’d been left with, he’s wound too tight to last long. He clenches his teeth, trying to ignore it, but every time Shiro fucks into him he’s thrown back to the precipice.

“Shiro—“ he curses as another thrust cuts him off. “I’m close.”

There’s no response. No acknowledgement he’d said anything — not a hum, or even a shift in his rhythm to get Keith there faster — only the rhythmic sound of Shiro’s skin meeting his and his own struggling breaths.

His first thought is that Shiro hadn’t heard him — there’s never been a time he’d said he’s close, and Shiro hasn’t been egged on by it — but when he repeats himself, trying to warn him in case Shiro wants to draw things out, he’s still met with silence.  

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he realizes, gripping the sheets tighter. None of this is about him. Shiro’s indifferent to everything but fucking, because he’s using him. He’s taking care of his own pleasure without a single thought for anything else, just as Keith had asked him to.

The thought makes his whole body heat. He could come, and Shiro wouldn’t stop. Come _again_ , and Shiro would just keep fucking him, ignoring his oversensitivity and inability to take more because he hadn’t finished using him yet.

A sudden swell of pleasure ripples through him, and he knows he’s spent. His breath hitches, the muscles in his legs going taunt when he spills over the sheets. And just as he’d imagined, Shiro doesn’t slow, doesn’t speed, doesn’t even flinch — he keeps fucking Keith at the same steady pace, as if he hadn’t even noticed Keith coming apart beneath him.

For what feels like ages, all he feels is the slide of Shiro in and out of him as his cock throbs through his release. Keith chokes out a moan when he comes to his senses, entirely wrecked. He’s shaking and weak in the aftermath, far too sensitive to do anything but just take each pound of Shiro’s hips against him.

He braces himself as much as he can, one hand reaching to the edge of the mattress for something solid to hold. It’s overwhelming, just on the edge of what he can endure — each thrust draws a ragged breath from his throat, and when Shiro speeds up, fucking him fast and shallow in the way Keith knows means he’s close, all he can do is bury his face in his arm to keep back a loud string of curses.

The swell of Shiro’s cock in him is almost too much — too much sensation, and too much to process — that it forces out a helpless whimper from him. He can barely support himself, but Shiro holds him steady, refusing to let him collapse until the last pulse of come fills him.

Shiro smoothes a hand over the curve of his back and pulls out of him with a low sigh. “You did good, Keith.”

Keith shivers — from the praise or the sensation of Shiro slipping out, he’s not sure — and slumps against the bed, eyes slipping shut from exhaustion. He listens, dazed, as Shiro steps around the room, half-wondering he’s planning something else or just cleaning himself up, and nearly startles when Shiro plops down beside him on the mattress, now undressed.

“Was that...all alright? I assume you would’ve told me if it wasn’t.”

He opens his eyes to look at Shiro through the bleary curtain of his lashes. There’s a sheepish smile on his lips that Keith can’t help but return.

“Yeah, it was.” Keith rolls away form the mess on the bed into Shiro’s arms and hums. “More than alright really...I’ve been wanting something like that for a long time.”

Shiro pushes back his bangs, eyes soft. “Well, I’m glad we tried it. And I’m glad you came during it — I’d feel a bit bad, otherwise.”

“The whole point was not to worry about that,” Keith grumbles into his shoulder. “I didn’t mind not getting off this afternoon...getting all worked up and having to wait for you was kind of fun.”

Shiro grins and rests a hand on the back of his thigh. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

 


End file.
